


Two Thirds are not a Whole

by penwitch



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penwitch/pseuds/penwitch
Summary: After Ron left, Hermione wasn‘t Hermione anymore.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley
Kudos: 13





	Two Thirds are not a Whole

After Ron left, Hermione wasn‘t Hermione anymore. It began with the silence. Everyone knew that the only time Hermione managed to be quiet was with her nose in a book, and even then, she’d periodically read the interesting passages out loud. Now, quiet was all she ever was. She didn’t speak, she didn’t laugh, even the light snoring Harry had gotten accustomed to after months of sharing a tent had stopped. For a while, Harry would try to coax words out of her by asking question after question, but the look on her face pained him so much that he stopped. Now, they only communicated through tiny nods, light shakes of the head and the occasional gesture. 

Then, Hermione stopped moving. She turned from a bundle of energy, from the girl who did her best thinking while walking circles around the tent, into a living statue. When it wasn’t raining, she’d sit down in front of the tent in the morning, with her back leaning against the walls of the tent and her knees drawn to her chest. There she’d sit and watch the day go by, her wand next to her in case someone found their hiding spot. On days like today, when the rain was pouring down outside and no magic in the world could keep the dampness from creeping into the tent, she didn’t even get out of bed. Lying on her back, Harry watched her stare at the ceiling for hours, only the occasional blinking gave away that she was still alive. 

Whenever it was time to move, Harry packed up their things, stored the tent and took down the magic wards concealing them from the Snatchers. He’d take Hermione’s hand, then apparate them to whatever spot she had pointed at on their map yesterday. Once they arrived, Harry would set up their home for the next few days, while Hermione drew up wards around them. She’d gotten surprisingly good at nonverbal magic, Harry realized. 

And then, a few weeks into the search, Hermione stopped eating. At first, she would wordlessly pick at whatever food Harry managed to find, and eat a bite here and there. Slowly, three bites turned into two, and one day Harry found himself pleading with her to at least take one little bite. After pleading didn’t get him anywhere, he resorted to humor (“Come on, my cooking skills aren’t THAT bad, it’s only lightly burnt today”) and lastly, to anger (“Quite the help you are!”), but all Hermione did was look at him with wide, glassy eyes and push her plate away. 

Harry carried on like things were not just falling apart. It took a few days for Hermione to visibly get thinner, and a few more days for Harry to realize she didn’t care. At this point, Harry let go of his anger towards Ron. Every night, after he had uselessly pleaded with Hermione to eat something, he left the tent for a bit, telling Hermione he needed some fresh air. He wasn’t sure she even cared where he went, but he told her anyways. Outside, he’d send Patronus after Patronus to Ron, asking him to come back. At first, he sent an owl to no not raise attention to where they were located, but he wasn’t sure if his letter ever arrived. What he knew is that he never received an answer. Maybe the owl got lost. 

When Hermione’s smallest pair of pants was only held up on her hips by magic anymore, he threw caution in the wind and sent the Patronus. And another, and another. Every night, he sent a message, telling Ron about Hermione’s state, apologizing for their fight, pleading with him to come back. No response.  
After Harry sent the Patronus, he’d return to the tent. All the lights were turned off, except a tiny lantern glowing on Hermione’s nightstand. Harry didn’t sleep well and when he woke up in the middle of the night, he liked to have the light to check if Hermione was still there. This was their routine. Hermione getting through day after day, almost catatonic, and Harry pretending things were normal. 

Until today. At night, Harry had fallen into an uneasy sleep, one ear always listening for anything unusual. Yet, he felt the change before he heard it. Something was off. There was a presence, close to him, almost uncomfortably so. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and in the slight glow of the lantern, his eyes focused on something by his bedside. He cursed himself for taking off his glasses before he went to sleep, albeit uncomfortable to sleep in, they were necessary for him to see anything more than blurry shadows. A few seconds later, his sleep-heavy brain had identified the shadow. Baggy sweater, sunken cheeks, unkempt hair and painfully thin, Hermione stood there, looking at him intently. Harry, who hadn’t grown up with the caring love of a mother or ever had a chance to take care of a young sibling, somehow knew exactly what he had to do. The very thing he had wished someone had done for him so many times.

Slowly, as not to spook Hermione, Harry moved over, closer to the wall of the tent. He folded back one side of the blankets and lightly patted the empty space beside him. Then, he waited, his gaze fixed to the ceiling. Almost an eternity went by before he felt the bed dip beside him. Fighting the urge to look over, Harry waited for her to pull the blankets up before he wordlessly extended his heating charm to Hermione’s side of the bed. He hadn’t missed the way she was constantly shivering, fingers turning blue on particularly cold days. At first, he had wondered why she didn’t fight the cold with magic, but for the moment he was just glad she had accepted the heating charm. 

Harry had almost fallen back asleep, when he felt another, tiny movement by his side, almost to small to recognize. Hermione’s hand was patting the mattress, wandering back and forth, searching for something. It took Harry a second to realize what she was looking for. Gently, he slid his hand towards hers, until her fingers found their target. A small, icy cold hand wrapped itself around his fingers, holding them so tightly that it almost hurt. Harry didn’t dare to move. It was the first time in so long that Hermione had initiated, or even tolerated any contact. 

Then, she spoke. Harry almost missed it, her voice quiet and raspy from the lack of use. “I miss him”, she whispered, and Harry’s heart shattered when her voice broke.

“I miss him too”, he said softly, “I miss both of you”.


End file.
